[x]

I Am a WriterI am a writer.
Yes, it’s easy for me to fall into a dream.
But there is nothing wrong with being tighter
With a story’s theme.

I am a writer.
That is all I will ever want to be
In the end, my story will be lighter,
And my characters will finally be free.

I am a writer.
There is nothing easier to say than that.
I will never let a story wither
Nor let a story fall flat

I am a soon to be author.
With several books ready to be read,
I want them to have great honor
And wish there will be tears shed.

To HooverHoover state: waking up to sleep
because that’s all I’m good for;
out of work, out of time again
and my brother won’t spare a dime.

Blanket sweat reminds me of this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in depressions of this planet;
the moon weeps for me in daytime.

I yank my pockets out, like it's
my country's flag; punch-line of the
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in my sagging skin on decline.

I've no penny to my name,
jumping out the window (one
last time) makes me worth more in this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep.

Twinkle StarTwinkle twinkle little star
Noone cares just who you are
When you fall the fall is far
Twinkle twinkle superstar.

The Soldier's Letter To HomeI write this from my death bed
My eyes fading in the light
Drowned in crimson red,
Drowned in shaking fright.
The enemy has won
The war now has ended
And though killed by my son
May his sins be ammended.
For this is Civil War
I cannot change the tide
So from you I implore
Do what is right.

Bury me somewhere nice
Near, and fair to look at
And forgive my son his sins;
For in war, no one wins.

Take Death's HandI do not fear Death.
My life has been long enough.
It's time I take my last breath.
I shall not rebuff.
Death stands by my side,
his hand extended for me to take.
His face is veiled like that of a bride.
This life I now forsake
as Death takes me away.
I do not regret
for I am free of the fray.
Please do not fret
for I am okay.

Continuous VoicesIt all began when I was ten
I found what lingered in my head disturbing
And it wasn’t until I grabbed a pen
And saw what truly lingered when I began writing.

There were continuous voices within my head
I was not one to favor them dead
Although, they had violet images attached
The way I wrote them matched.

Since then, the voices have changed
Octaves have risen and lowered
Their words have exchanged
And eventually became uncensored.

These continuous voices have brought war
Ones with an uprising roar
And at moments I want to kill the sound
For they are so profound.

Yet, they continue to crescendo
And welcome me to a hidden story
And so

Aur si plumbUn gând de aur, dar se simte
mai greu ca un pumnal de plumb
ce intră-n coaste, se învârte,
și caută să iasă prin minte...
Stilou de aur, scrie versuri,
dar lasă urme ca de plumb,
pe foi mânjite de cerneală,
și de cafea, și alte resturi...

Un glonţ de aur, dar se simte
mai tandru ca o zi de plumb,
îl pun aici, închid capacul,
și ca un gând, îl scot prin minte.

~Evil creatures~

They're evil creatures in the night
Lurking in the shadows but still seeing there sight
From they're pale skin and glowing eyes
Out there graves they will rise
Moaning and groaning is what you hear
Your body will soon fill with fear

They walk or run in a fast pace
Here they come for the chase
Get ready for the fear
Coming through the door they are here
Board up the windows to keep them away
This is the place you don't want to stay

It's too late now they're breaking in
It's a fight you may not win
Grab you shotgun prepare for the fight
This battle may last all night
Pain and blood come from your arm
A bite from these creatures can cause muc

ContrariwiseSilly little Alice,
Forget all you thought you knew,
For deep inside your head,
Everything is all askew.

If they tell you that one plus one,
Equals twelve and half, my dear,
Don't worry yourself about it,
For two is so last year.

Don't even try to be different,
Or it'll be "Off with her head!",
And you'll find it's better to live a lie,
Than it is to end up dead.

So heed this socially accepted advice,
Ditch any scraps of your insanity,
To cavort with the Hare in March,
Join the Hatter for a cup of tea.

Fritter your days away,
Dancing under a Cheshire moon,
Don't mind the surrounding chaos,
Ignore impending doom.

But even as you join in

EndlingHere am I, the captive thylacine
Treading my tiger-striped, ungainly way
Around the metal-mesh confinement of my cage
Here am I, exhibited, exhumed
Brought from the brink to pace another day
A living testament, a final thumbmarked page
Here am I, the only specimen
Bereft of mate, of pups, of kin, of kind
Watching the claws of history extending
Here am I, the final thylacine
The only one, the last, the lost, the endling.

Who Was HeHe stood at the average height for men.
His built was quite average.
His eyes were that of cyan.
Nonetheless, he was average.

His hair was that of blonde,
Nearly, white.
His walk and personality had a great bond.
He was a confident sight.

His skin was a delicate peach.
His muscles were quite firm.
So irresistible, a teasing reach.
His appearance had its own term.

One that the dictionary cannot confirm.

Who was he?
That man with his own sea?
He was one without a name.
His appearance was a taunting game.
He was one without a number for an age.
Forget it, he’s fake on this page.

SuicideThere's no blood on her hands
Bullet holes in the door
Nothing but colored pills
And her lying on the floor

You look at her face
There's despair in her eyes
And you wonder what she thought
As she fell and died

And maybe you're begging her to come back
And maybe you're asking why she let go
The hurt in your chest feels like a heart attack
And now you finally know

Maybe you could've helped her
If you'd looked past your own nose
Maybe she'd be alive now
You had a chance, this is what you chose
Now maybe you'll learn from things
That you didn't see
Maybe you'll open your eyes
And rescue him, or her, or me
Maybe she cried a prayer
For the oth

WarWhen stories of battle are shared,
They are full of fame and glory.
No one knows what war really holds,
That is, until they hear this story.
At first there is much excitement,
Your chance to be a hero.
Then homesickness begins to set in,
The sorrow makes you feel like zero.
Then the supplies get cut off,
Your stomach cries out for food.
It rains then it droughts, and then you want out,
You'd laugh at your situation but you're not in the mood.
No sanitation, no garbage cans,
You are living in human waste.
The tents are torn up, the beds full of lice,
You wish you were in a different place.
Then you finally go to fight,
This is your chance to prove yourself.
All your comrades are shot down,
So much for fame and wealth...
Cleaning up the bodies,
Of those who used to be your friends.
Not even time for a proper burial,
Too many injuries to attend.
Then there's the sneak attack,
You are all caught by surprise.
A brutal, bloody, massacre,
A bullet between your eyes.
In this little game o

One WindowOne window is all I need
To see the world for what it truly is
With my mind a system of creed.
My talent can depict or dismiss
This world of goals, so hear my heed.

I sit down beside a journal,
My fingers clutching a pencil.
I will make my character’s life spiral
And send them off to a council
Where they must advance through the next trial.

One window is all I need
To watch them afar a long, hazy field,
Where I can study their speed
Of understanding when they will yield
Of life, itself, so they need to hear my heed.

My character’s goal,
As well as mine,
Is to be whole
And see how bright life can shine
Even through the darkness

Oh, Holy FatherOh, Holy Father above, please hear me tonight,
Give me the strength to continue the fight
Against the evil that lies within my heart –
Purify me, let me bleed and tear me apart.
Cleanse me, I beg of you, set my soul free
From the demons that have such a hold on me.
I am a man, a mere mortal, dedicated and just,
I steer clear from sinners and am not swayed by lust.
I am loyal and honest and faithful and true,
And, in my time of need, I turn to you.
I am wounded and broken and on my knees, I pray,
Save me before the sun greets another day.
Protect me from the darkness, let my torment end,
So I can be your Man of God once again.

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Gods of ModernityHis greatest vice the one which he hath merely dreamed
Of moral concubine, his everlasting Helen
The perpetual Achilles' Heel adorning his indifferent deathbed
Paralyzed and impotent, unable to divorce his melancholy breast from virtue of a cause long lost
Curse thee, mighty Aphrodite!
For thou hath given mortal man thy eternal potency
At the whim of gods, his weary inability grows thin
Yet sanity retains its firm and wretched grasp upon his crimson shell
A solitary, stoic karma swelling in its masonry
And but a footnote in the pious wrath of fate, his worthless plight
Immortal nature, vizier of all that binds and liberates man

The Eminent RebirthThe crossroads anticipating
The fated arrival of the being
Earnestly and with severe anticipation
As the angered fumes decisively disperse
A waft of what seems like distant past
The forward path that beckons with an aromatic calling
Breeze of summer caress echoing its eternal re-emergence
Amidst the horror and sufferance endured
Unknowingly patient, the innate knowledge surfacing out of the woodwork
Arising midst the cobwebbed sinew and long forgotten scars
Now equipped to spearhead the impending dread with focused radiance
Purging excess
Eradicating vile and decadent, the effigy of decomposing order
Refusing to subscribe to its

An Abstract of the BloodSpiteful surges
Coursing through the feral chambers given
By the lords of the enduring chain of sorrowed past

Casting their unfaithful shadows
Anger sprawled across the canvas of familiarity
Fated nature pitted boundlessly against a savage gall

A propensity that keeps the foolish gravitating
Ever constantly towards an ever flowing singularity
The antithetical desire that refuses to accept the being, stubborn mule

Cancer eating cranial fruitions, lust begotten
Tearing through impulses carnal, forcing contrast starkly bleak
To languidly emerge from sanguine curtains, channelling the crimson bane

The will now dedicated to the drownin

The MonolithFrom the brittle, sightless thread
Pinning under, gashing through our weightless fabric
Weaving midst the paltry, weary metals
Cleaving our beloved sleeves on which we wear appendage prized and tender
Red abused, perverted
Mercilessly weighing down on, pressuring
On points of vanity
Succumbing willingly
Becoming slaves to our own worthless whims
The weakened masters of this misconstrued, omitted nature
Violating our forlorn and sacred altar
Which upon we bow down to our mislead fears
Once again affixed to modern slave stick

Oppressors of a moral strain
To which we must abide
To arbitrary yet unspoken rule
Unquestioned and unno

Beelzebub the SaviorDestitute and meager
Forests lush
His anxious clutch
Beneath his palpitating fear

Hallowed beings
Shadows far amidst the blackness
Void of time and seer of a mighty profanation
Closing indeterminately, Beelzebub with pallid fleece extends his modest hands

Comfort of a soulless view
Bind your callow eyes, escape the lucid horror
Remedy this blasphemy with blasphemy
The innate mastication of a dogma malignant

Dressed up like a sweet confection
Noxious, morbid entrails sheltered by a saccharine facade
Forest dripping
Marrow pounding war-like hymns

Backwoods swelling, acrid shrieks
Adorning pungent silence
Ghastly corpses of the

Ritual of InfinityMoments dissipate into the apathy of silence
Calmly swaying, fusing with the dead of mind's expense
An ingrained trend of passing hour
Fretting for the fate of ominous and impotent decay

Another mangled, faded spirit of a quiescent foretelling
Another entity abysmal that absorbs his frenzied hunger
Of the serpent's opaque principle, the fettered flesh of truth beneath
That keeps a man securely fastened to his own pernicious vice

Lethargic space befitting my repose of scorn
The morbid languish chained, brittle hands remain of filth
Ethereal decay beyond the corporeal, a mind of labyrinthine mire
Beneath its occult shroud is veiled

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Submitted: September 17, 2009
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The echo

by ~animusreus, Sep 17, 2009, 7:53:44 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

I utter
But hear no reply
Only ocean echo mocking, answering the waves of yearning
Answering the waves of yearning

I murmur
But hear no reply
Only cry of lost solicitude resounding over tides of pleased unrest
Tides of pleased unrest

I mutter
But hear no reply
Only cool air whirling drafts of false hope and a breeze of lying pledge
Breeze of lying pledge

I whisper
But hear only self
And wonder if I'll only ever hear my echo
My echo

The echoby ~animusreus

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Some dumb idea I had.

Alternate stupid version:

I utter
But hear no reply
Only ocean echo mocking, answering the waves of yearning
Answering the waves of yearning

I murmur
But hear no reply
Only cry of lost solicitude resounding over tides of pleased unrest
Tides of pleased unrest
Answering the waves of yearning

I mutter
But hear no reply
Only cool air whirling drafts of false hope and a breeze of lying pledge
Breeze of lying pledge
Tides of pleased unrest
Answering the waves of yearning

I whisper
But hear only self
And wonder if I'll only ever hear my echo
My echo
Tides of pleased unrest
Breeze of lying pledge
Answering the waves of yearning

~~love 0 0~~

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

sad 1 1

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~wavesandbreakers88 Sep 19, 2009 Student Writer

I love how you're talking about not being able to hear an echo, then repeat a line in each stanza (like an echo). It's very clever, methinks.

!x-March-x-Pain-x Sep 17, 2009

Well my friend, if this constitutes a "dumb idea", I'd hate to see what your genius yields. As usual, your style is very unique- I really like that you accumulated the "echoes" at the end of each verse.

It also makes me curious to know what echo it is that you hear, especially if you see your response as so unintelligent. But that's your own affair, of course.

Just one slight correction: you've misspelled "solicitude" in the second verse. Great work, regardless, and hopefully you find the answer you're looking for.

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